


The Void

by Infie



Series: Sojourn in the Void - Alternate Season 3.5 [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate S3.5, Amnesia, Gen, League of Assassins - Freeform, Violence, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4730255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infie/pseuds/Infie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been almost a month since their lives were shattered irrevocably by Oliver's death.  At Nanda Parbat, Nyssa struggles to train the initiate while keeping her father at bay.  Back in Starling, most of the team has been laying low but their reprieve is about to come to an end. </p><p>Chapter 1: Nyssa faces the inevitable results of time spent in the pit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Break

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to say thank you for all the folks who are doggedly keeping up with the updates, as erratic as they have been, and who are subscribing, bookmarking, commenting, and kudoing. I try and write for myself first, but the truth is that the feedback keeps the thought process moving, and I wanted to share my appreciation with each and every one of you. Thank you.

  
  


It had been several weeks, and Nyssa knew that her father was growing impatient with her steadfast refusal to present _him_ for ascension. He had passed his ascension proficiency in knife-work in only four days, much more quickly than she was comfortable with, and his skills with the staff were approaching the same level. She was rapidly running out of ways to stall his progress, a fact that her father knew as well as she did. 

She had hoped that with time and interaction, some trace of the Oliver she’d known would appear, however briefly. 

That hope had proven to be in vain. 

He remained as alien and empty as he’d first seemed. During training there was no evidence even of the deadly fury she’d seen when he was chained, only the cold, emotionless evaluation of a pure predator. That fleeting glimpse the first day of the icy hunter within had occurred many times during their sessions. She appreciated his power and lethality, the purity of his focus, but she trusted him no more than she would trust the shark her mind continued to equate him with. The last several days there had been something new in his body language, a growing tension that belied his calm demeanour. A tightly coiled _something_ that disquieted her deeply. 

The pit had stolen his morality along with his memory. It was a trait her father would value highly if he could find a way to leash it. 

She had finally taken a chance and had supplied him with a bow, silently gesturing at the target eighty paces distant. He’d drawn it with the same liquid grace she’d known in him from the beginning, effortless and beautiful in his smooth draw and release, the perfect form. The target had shattered, struck dead center with the heavy training arrow. An impossible shot with an unfamiliar weapon and arrows of untested weight. 

For the barest instant, she’d thought she’d seen something, the merest flicker… 

Then, he had lowered the bow, and the moment was gone. She’d nodded her acknowledgement of the accurate shot, and he had returned the bow to the case with quick, sure movements. 

Her father had been unimpressed with her attempts to draw out the dead Oliver Queen and had instructed her clearly: focus the initiate on the gaps in his training, not the strengths. She had been limited in her options yet again. 

So she placed him in charge of the weapons maintenance indefinitely. If he wouldn’t be permitted to shoot the bow, at least she could force him to handle one. If he were handling them, perhaps he would remember, something. Anything. 

He did not. 

Today’s lesson had turned into a night session and they were alone in the great room. Even Sarab had finished for the day, and they trained by the light of the flickering gas torches her father favoured. She faced him over mixed short blunt weapons; a morningstar and round shield for her and a heavy battlemace for him. He had the mass and muscle to wield it as easily as he would the much lighter standard mace, and for all his inexperience the sheer grace of his movement was still impressive. 

“Faster,” she told him flatly, blocking an overhand swing with a smooth redirection of the mace head past her shoulder. “Feel the momentum, turn it to your advantage. You must work with the lines of attack that the weapon permits you. If you try and force it to your will you will fail.” She swung the morningstar in a complicated twisting pattern around her, using her wrist and the natural swing of the weighted end to form a pattern of glittering spiked steel. 

He took a step back and mimicked her with the much heavier battlemace; his eyes unfocused as he felt for the natural breakpoints and balances in the weapon. He gave a short nod when he found it and came back at her with a much tighter attack pattern that had her working hard to block him. She felt him speed up further, push harder. 

“Good,” she said. “Now, spar.” 

They moved fluidly into the flow of attack and defend; swings shifting to blocks, rebounds to blows. She nodded as the improvement in his technique made itself felt in harder strikes and faster blocks. She took a step back to absorb a particularly heavy blow and dropped to one knee, shoving the mace past her arm with a sideways press of the shield. His stance faltered and his guard opened, and she swung for his chest with the morningstar, a move he could counter easily. Instead, his eyes narrowed with a new, terrifying expression as he saw it coming, as he stepped into her strike. 

_Eagerness._

She broke all form and dropped the handle of the morningstar. Without the guidance of her wrist it whirled past him into the table of knives, overturning it and sending them to the stone floor in a discordant jangle of steel. The next instant she was on her feet with her sword at his throat. His fingers closed over her wrist and squeezed, but her bracers and the firm muscles of her forearm held under the pressure. 

“If you wish to die, simply ask for it, nej h’ul. I will fulfil your desire without blinking. But it will not happen in a training ‘accident’. Not with me.” 

He stared at her from inches away, fearless. The expression on his face was bland and the tiny trickle of blood on his neck had already stopped, his Pit-enhanced healing closing the wound as quickly as her blade had opened it. “I don’t want to die,” he said flatly. 

She glared at him, searching his eyes for falsehood. She found only emptiness and growled under her breath before wrenching the sword from his skin. He blinked, and she caught a tiny glimpse of something that made her flush with the icy bite of adrenaline, almost made her step back. She caught herself in time, before he saw her reaction. 

It wasn’t the predator that she’d become so tantalizingly familiar with over the past weeks. 

This was infinitely worse. 

Madness. 

She’d thought that he’d managed to avoid it. His control over himself was perfect; he was precise and vicious and skilled and she had seen nothing to indicate that he was in any way compromised. She’d thought that the Pit had extracted its payment in bone and flesh, memory and morality, but had left at least sanity intact. 

She had been wrong. 

She turned her back on him and strode away. 

He caught up to her in four steps, pulling her back to face him by her shoulder. His fingers bit into her leather paulder, driving it into wool and skin. She tilted her head in imperious query, ducking her chin just enough to hide her racing pulse. 

“You saw,” he said it softly, with a menace that had her muscles tightening in reflexive anticipation. 

“What do you believe I saw, nej h’ul?” She felt her lip curl in contempt. “That I am training an initiate who prefers to die than to admit his incompetence?” 

“No.” He shook his head slowly, threat radiating from him. His eyes never left hers and he was no longer bothering to hide it; the insanity was clear in them now. That yawning void was filled with manic rage that she knew all too well from her father’s frequent descents into Pit madness. “You saw what I need. What I am going to do.” She knew, and that made her even more of a threat than before. It made her an _enemy_. The only question was how would he handle it. 

And that was no question at all. He was Pit-stung, and that meant only one thing. 

Violence. 

“You are going to release my shoulder and you are going to return to your quarters.” She refused to yield. 

“You are going to take me to the Pit.” His eyes were feral in the torchlight, their blue washed into a weird almost-brown. “You are going to take me there _now_.” He shook her by her shoulder and she wrenched free, realizing too late that he’d been maneuvering her backwards and her back was now against the wall. He was too close for the sword so she dropped it, settling both her hands over the hilts of her knives. “You’re going to put me back in.” 

“No. I am not.” She braced her feet and squared her shoulders. “I warned you. The Pit can be used only once. A return to the Pit is death. I have offered twice to kill you, and I do so again. If you wish to die I will grant your desire. But I will not release you to an unclean death in the Pit.” 

“Put me back,” he growled it, looming over her. His eyes glittered in the torchlight and an involuntary bolt of fear shot through her. 

“No.” She said through gritted teeth. 

“Put me back!” he shouted in her face. 

This time she smiled her defiance. “ _No._ ” 

He hit her. 

A starburst of agony flared through her cheekbone, another from the back of her head as it snapped back against the wall. She felt the skin split and damp blood begin to trace down her cheek. However, she had been trained at the hand… and the fist, of Ra’s al Ghul and she was familiar with Pit-enhanced strength. 

“Put me back,” he screamed, drawing back his arm to strike her again. 

Time slowed and her hands came up filled with her curved fighting knives. She had all the time she needed to envision her strike at his unprotected neck, his open armpit, through his wide, mad eye. His death was within her grasp, and she began to take it. 

But… 

She saw Sara’s face when she introduced the Arrow, that flicker of love that had made her heart drop. She saw Oliver standing over Sara, begging for her release from the League, ready to protect her with his life even if it killed them all. 

She saw the desolation in Felicity Smoak’s eyes upon hearing of Oliver’s death, felt again that echo of her own. 

She screamed in frustration and ducked his punch, swirling her hands away from his neck to bury both of her knives to the hilt in his abdomen. She jerked her hands apart to widen the wounds and then yanked the blades free. Blood cascaded down his armour and spattered the ground. 

He fell to his knees, still raging at her, still reaching for her to force her to take him to that cursed Pit. 

She strode away from him and hit the brass gong with the hilt of her knife before returning to impassively watch him curse at her. Sarab sprinted into the room, sword drawn. He skidded to a halt, his eyes wide at the sight of the initiate on the floor holding his abdomen closed with both hands, kneeling in a widening pool of his own blood, snarling incoherently. 

“Fetch my father,” she told him calmly and he nodded. “And the surgeon.” 

Sarab raced back out of the room. 

She stepped closer and leaned down, catching his eyes with her own. He stopped making those animal noises and simply bared bloody teeth at her, hate written all over his face. “There will be no death for you,” she said clearly, venomously. “No Pit for you. No ascension until you heal, which will not be quickly. You have failed in all of your tasks, even those you merely set for yourself.” She shook her head in mock sadness. 

“I am going to kill you,” he promised in a guttural growl, his eyes still alight with madness. He was swaying on his knees, kept erect only by stubbornness and fury. “I am going to make it _hurt_.” 

She shrugged and stood, tossing him one of her knives, sheathed dark red with his blood. “For when you’re ready,” she said magnanimously. “I’ll be waiting.”


	2. Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ra's makes the initiate an offer that is hard to refuse.

He woke to pain, to rage, and to Ra's al Ghul looming over him. 

His abdomen blazed with agony where Nyssa’s knives had ripped him apart and he snarled, jerking his wrists against the leather restraints pinning his arms to his cot. The itch in his brain was screaming at him to get up, to fight, to _move_ , driving him to thrash to get loose despite the tearing ache in his guts. He saw movement near his head and snapped mindlessly at it with his teeth, a moment later recognizing Nyssa standing cross-armed over him. He glared. 

“I believe that the delay in providing him access to the pit has had an undesirable result,” Nyssa said mildly. 

Ra's gave her a flat glare in reply, before gesturing her to leave. She turned in a swirl of wool and leather and disappeared from his sight. He turned his gaze back to Ra's al Ghul. The noise in his head reached a fever pitch and he twisted again. Screams tore from his throat. 

A blessedly cold hand covered his forehead, lessening the itch in his mind as if by magic. He opened his eyes to see Ra's sitting beside him, watching him with calm, sympathy. “Nyssa doesn’t understand the price we pay for the Pit,” Ra's told him in a deep, melodic voice. “But you understand, don’t you?” 

He stared at Ra’s, barely comprehending. 

“Of course you do. You are closest of us all, at the moment.” Ra’s’ mouth twitched into a brief smile. “I have a great deal of experience with her call. I can help you.” Ra’s leaned forward, face intense. 

“Put me back,” he whispered in a voice like grinding glass. “Put. Me. Back.” 

“Nyssa was correct. The pit may be used only once for any person. You cannot go back, unless you wish to die.” 

He closed his eyes. The itch in his mind was deafening, the destruction of his abdomen a shrieking agony. “Put me back.” 

“You interest me, initiate. Your progress has been remarkable.” The words filtered into his head at what felt like half-speed. “You are of no use to me like this.” 

A hand pressed over the wound on his right flank and he screamed in helpless rage. 

“I should kill you where you lie. But I find myself intrigued nonetheless. So I make you an offer, initiate. You see, while it is true that a pit may be used only once per person…” He felt Ra’s lean over him, close to his ear, and only barely managed to stop himself from tearing at him with his teeth. “ _There is more than one pit._ ” 

A low keening noise tore itself free from his throat and his limbs twisted against the restraints anew. 

“Swear me your fealty, your personal oath, and I will help you. I can release you from her thrall, and perhaps, one day, I shall share the other secrets of Nanda Parbat with you. If you prove worthy.” There was a long pause. “First you must survive this, without the benefits of the Pit. Only the truly strong may be permitted the secrets of Nanda Parbat. If I choose to share them, you will be the first.” 

“Put me back.” He choked. The thick, metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth as something new tore. 

“An excellent point.” Ra’s spoke as if he’d said something completely different, and then his presence receded. A minute later he returned, looming again. “I could hardly expect you to be able to make an aware decision at the moment, could I?” Ceremoniously he held up a leather water bladder, bulging with liquid. “A small taste of one of the other magics of Nanda Parbat. Not enough to heal you, but enough to let you think.” 

He poured the liquid over the wounds on his abdomen, and immediately the raging agony began to fade. He gasped, and Ra’s brought the liquid to his lips. 

“Drink,” he commanded. 

He drank. The liquid wasn’t water, it was viscous and tasted vile. He choked again, the combination of blood and liquid spraying over the rest of his face and burning his eyes. Ra’s forced another mouthful down his throat and then drew away. 

The squeezing pain and relentless screaming _itching_ in his head vanished. 

The relief was overwhelming. He could feel sanity returning and melted back against the cot, tense muscles releasing in shocked respite. Groggily he opened his eyes to see Ra’s watching him with amusement. 

“How… long?” 

“The Fountain releases its taker from the madness of the pit… until the next time a pit is used. Or until the madness recurs on its own, which does happen. Often.” Ra’s appeared to be sincere. “There is no way to predict which you will be.” A smile flickered across his lips. “This gift is not free, nej h’ul. I wished you to make your choice freely. Now. Choose.” 

He looked up at Ra’s, a new sensation welling up in his chest. An emotion. The first he felt that wasn’t anger. 

_Gratitude._

“I swear,” he whispered. 

Ra’s smiled.


	3. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Thea reveals Felicity burying her pain in work and focus. The shadow group is getting closer to the team.

Thea exited the elevator on the executive floor of Palmer Technologies and headed straight for Felicity’s office, trying not to look around and remember visiting as a child. Memories bombarded her anyway; Robert Queen introducing her to his assistant with gravity and pride; Walter’s smile and welcoming hug when she would come to see him for lunch; her mother’s stern elegance with the board members melting into the more relaxed smile that was just for her. Even Oliver, looking completely out of his depth but putting his best fake self forward, flanked by Felicity at one shoulder and Diggle at the other. 

If her father… If Robert hadn’t had such ‘close relationships’ with his interns, would she have noticed the depth of friendship between Oliver, Diggle and Felicity for the unusual event it was? Or would she still have been blind to the true affection they all shared? 

Somehow, she had managed to miss that all of the injuries and mysterious absences aligned with reports of Vigilante activity. Of course she would have been blind, just like she was blind to Malcolm’s duplicity. 

She pushed the dark thoughts away and smiled brightly at Felicity’s assistant. “Jerry! Can I go in?” 

Jerry glanced through the glass walls of the office, his face tight with what she was pretty sure was worry. “Of course, Miss Queen,” he said, and then leaned forward and whispered, “please.” 

She peeked through as well, but all she could see was the top of Felicity’s head. Jerry waved his hand at the door, and she nodded in thanks and headed in. 

“Felicity?” 

Felicity looked up and Thea felt her stomach clench in sympathy. Felicity looked exhausted, dark circles clear under sunken eyes. Her previously sunshine-bright hair had been darkened; still blonde but closer to a caramel than her usual. Perhaps it was the clothes that gave that impression. She was wearing a dark beige shirt and sweater, her fingernails painted taupe. Even her lipstick was subdued, and Thea realized she couldn’t remember a time from… before.... that Felicity hadn’t worn bright red lipstick and bright bold colours. Now the only colour on her was how blue her eyes looked against the bloodshot whites. 

“Wow,” she said before she thought. Thinking fast, she continued, “you’ve really changed your look. When did you start wearing your hair down like that?” 

Felicity stared at her blankly for a long moment before her face cleared and she gave a small, close-mouthed smile. “Thea! It’s so good to see you.” The quick flash of grief that Thea had come to expect came and went across her face. “Has it been two weeks already?” 

“Three, actually.” 

“Oh.” Felicity frowned. “Sorry?” 

“Felicity! Do you have those figures for me on the quan...Oh, hello! I’m Ray.” A very tall, dark and handsome man came into the office like a whirlwind. His eyes were kind of weirdly intense and looked like he spent too much time staring at computer screens, but his smile seemed genuine as he put out his hand. 

She shook it. “Thea Queen,” she introduced herself. “I’m here to take Felicity out for a while.” 

“Good! That’s good.” Ray… Palmer, she was guessing, turned to face Felicity who was looking mulish. “Do you have the figures?” 

Felicity pushed a little metal case across her desk to him. It looked to be filled with memory sticks. “Figures on the processor with a palladium base versus a titanium base versus doped cadmium. Also results of the microfiber testing from Barry’s formulas, and the solutions to the moisture shorting problems.” She tapped a finger against each flash drive in turn. “Projections for Applied Sciences for this quarter, five year budget planning, four new project approvals for technology implementations, and a design for the atom head’s up display.” 

Ray picked up the case like it held the treasures of the universe. Given that almost nothing of what she said made any sense to Thea at all, maybe it did. 

“Wow,” Ray said in his curiously abrupt way. “That’s a pretty good week.” 

“ _Week?_ ” Thea couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “When do you _sleep_?” 

Felicity shot her a dark look but she didn’t back down. “I don’t,” she finally said curtly. 

“Well,” Ray was clearly taken aback and Felicity jumped a little when he spoke. Thea thought she might have forgotten he was there, which was worrying, since he took up a good portion of the room. “That’s no good.” He pointed at Felicity as if she were a recalcitrant puppy. “You! Out. You’re way ahead of schedule on… well. Everything. And I don’t want my best resource burning out.” He placed a hand on Felicity’s shoulder. “We’ll still be here in a couple of days, trying to catch up to you. You go with Miss Queen here, get some dinner and some rest.” 

Felicity sighed and pushed away from her desk. “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

Ray tapped the watch on his wrist with nimble fingers. “In three days. Until then you’re locked out.” 

“Oh please, I can break that lock.” Apparently unimpressed, Felicity grabbed her coat. 

“You might, but I think it will take you about … two and a half days to do it. Might as well just sleep instead.” Ray grinned at the annoyance on her face and took off before she could come up with some other argument. 

“Using my own dirty tricks against me,” Felicity muttered, then shook her head and rubbed a hand over her face. It was trembling. 

“Come on,” Thea said, linking her arm through the crook of Felicity’s elbow. “Let’s get out of here. Get a meal. Then, if you still can’t sleep, I can always just choke you out.” 

The peal of Felicity’s startled laughter was exactly what she’d been aiming for, and it made Jerry’s head come up with a jolt. He caught the brief grin on Felicity’s face and his whole body sagged in relief. Thea gave him a little wave and he waved back, placing a hand over his heart to show his thanks. 

They decided on a simple bar and grill for dinner, and the place was busy enough that they chose to sit at one of the booths at the bar. The bank of televisions were tuned to the twenty-four hour news, with closed captioning on to avoid being too loud for the diners. 

Felicity smiled at her and Thea felt the warmth all the way to her toes. Being with Felicity was like walking around with sunshine on her face all the time. Speculatively she wondered for the first time if Oliver had involved Felicity with the team for more than her mind. “Thea, how _are_ you?” 

“It’s been rough,” Thea admitted honestly. “I still can’t believe that I did that. That I … That I killed Sara.” It hurt to say it, as if the words were broken glass scraping her throat raw. “That my father… That Malcolm would do that to me. To Oliver. To Sara.” She shook her head, feeling the tears rise again. 

Felicity took her hand and squeezed it hard. “It wasn’t you,” she said fiercely. “I may not know you very well yet, but I knew Oliver better than anyone, and I knew more of your mom than I really wanted to, and even just in the time we’ve spent together I can tell you from my heart that the real you would never have hurt Sara. Never.” 

Thea gasped out a half-sob, half-laugh. “I wish I believed it,” she bit her lip to fight back the urge to outright cry. “Sara Lance was my friend when I was a little girl. I knew her my whole life, except when she was d-...” She gulped it back. “Dead.” 

Felicity squeezed her hand harder. “It wasn’t you,” she said again, firmly. “Any time you think otherwise, you call me. I’ll keep telling you so every time you need to hear it.” She leaned back a little as a burst of laughter came from the booth beside them. “I make a macro if you need it.” She smiled. “Now tell me what you’ve been up to?” 

“Verdant,” she answered promptly. “Expanding the menu, improving the turnout.” She rolled her eyes a little. “Looking for a new DJ. The one I have is just a complete dick.” 

Felicity tilted her head. 

“Yeah, well. I thought he was cute for maybe a minute. Then I remembered his attitude and overcame whatever stupidity my hormones had in mind.” She shrugged. “I just want to remember who I was, the last time that I liked who I was, you know? I need to find that girl again.” 

“You’ll never be her again,” Felicity said quietly as her eyes unfocussed, and Thea knew she meant the words for them both. 

“I know. But I think I can get closer than I am.” 

Felicity smiled and nodded encouragement. 

“So,” Thea shook back her hair. They paused while the server brought their drinks. “Your turn. Tell me how you’ve been. My bet is: Really crappy.” 

Felicity gave her a weak smile and sipped her drink. “Like you, just trying to focus on work,” she replied. “And trying to make sure we stay ahead of the bad guys.” At Thea’s lifted eyebrow, she explained, “Started off with lots of poking at my honey pots, but they’ve moved on to start to target my real servers. I’ve had to go partly offline.” She took another drink, a big one this time. “I think they’re getting close.” 

Thea’s heart dropped. “How close?” 

“They’ve definitely done their homework. Their searches have tightened up a lot; looking for a six foot two black man with military experience, a five foot seven man with mixed martial arts, a six foot brunette woman with military training, and a five foot five blonde woman with martial arts and hacking skills.” She smiled but it just looked ill. “It seems they think Laurel and I are one person.” 

“That’s not good.” Thea could feel how wide her eyes were. 

“At least none of us are known for hanging out together.” 

“Still, Felicity… That’s really, really close.” 

“I think they’re looking for leverage,” Felicity told her tiredly. “I think that the surge in crime in the Glades is them, trying to lure us into the streets. They’re trying to trap one of the team to force everyone forward.” 

“Roy’s been going out.” Thea didn’t have any compunction at all about giving him up, given what Felicity had told her. “He’s wincing when he moves, got bruises on his face, scratches on his hands. Just like when we were together and he was out on the streets, trying to be a hero.” 

Felicity paled, as much as she could from how drawn she’d already looked. “We’ll talk to him,” she declared immediately. “I only made the connections today, I haven’t had a chance to bring Digg and Roy up to speed.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started typing frantically with her thumbs. 

Thea’s eye was caught by a flashing banner scrolling at the bottom of each screen on the bank of screens. She blinked, unable to process what she was seeing. “Oh no,” she breathed. Felicity saw the look on her face and turned to look. 

_”... tage taking in the Glades. A bank robbery has resulted in an eight-person hostage taking in the Glades…”_

The screens showed security footage of the inside of the bank, with a line of people huddled along the edge of the counter. Gunmen stood over them, one on the counter, waving automatic weapons in the air. As the camera panned, one more hostage came into view. Sitting alone to the side, he was hunched and angry, clearly ready to move at a moment’s notice. Even in the greyscale of the security camera the hoodie and the angle of his face was unmistakeable. 

Felicity blinked, and her whole face changed. Her skin flushed and her jaw hardened, her mouth settling into a compressed, uncompromising line. She swiped the screen of her phone with a stiffened finger, immediately lifting it to her ear. 

“Foundry,” she said curtly a second later. “ _Now._ ” A second call was handled with the same brusque directness. She dropped forty dollars onto the table and stood. Thea stared at the screens in shock. 

“Roy?” She whispered, feeling like her whole world had just frozen. 

“Come on.” Felicity hauled her to her feet by one arm and hustled her out of the bar. “Time to go rescue the prince.”


	4. Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Digg and Laurel go as Arrow and Canary to rescue the hostages.

John took the steps to the foundry two at a time, Laurel clattering at his heels. “What is it?” he demanded before he was even half-way down, just as he caught sight of Felicity at her desk with Thea at her side. He almost missed a step but managed to right himself before he actually tumbled. 

“Hostage taking at Starling Commerce Bank,” Felicity rolled sideways in her chair without looking up, almost bowling Thea over. It seemed that it wasn’t the first time, because Thea stepped to the side automatically just before she would have been hit. “Roy’s inside.” 

“How?” Laurel asked incredulously. 

“He’s been patrolling,” Thea said, irritation in every line of her body. “In the most amazing disguise ever - his regular red hoodie.” 

John rubbed both hands over his face and wished that he could just go back and start the day over. Instead, he said, “What’s the plan?” 

Felicity spun in her chair. “There’s a complication.” 

“Of course there is.” Laurel sagged against the medical table and waved her hand. “If there wasn’t, it wouldn’t need us.” 

“I am absolutely positive that this is a trap.” Felicity’s eyes were shadowed and red-rimmed with pure exhaustion, and he felt a surge of guilt for withdrawing so thoroughly from the team. They’d all decided to step back from the crime-fighting, but that didn’t have to mean that they didn’t interact with each other, and Felicity looked like she’d been through hell. Without sleeping. He raked a look over her. Or eating. “It’s the group behind the traffickers, trying to flush us out.” 

John nodded silently for her to continue. 

“There’s been an escalating pattern of crime in the Glades since we went underground, all focused on the types of crime that the Arrow usually gets involved in. Started off low-scale but it’s been getting more brazen. Bigger hits, more obvious targets. It’s clear; they’re trying to get us to show up so they can grab us.” 

“Well, they succeeded.” Laurel strode over and pointed at the security image of Roy on the floor of the bank. 

“Luckily, they don’t know that.” Felicity took a drink from her water bottle, her hand shaking visibly. John moved to her side and placed his hand on her shoulder, knowing it wasn’t the same as when Oliver did it but hoping he managed to help a little anyway. She lay her cheek against his hand briefly and offered him a shadow of her usual smile. “It means we have a secret weapon in the bank, and we know that Roy’s just waiting for us to go in and get him out, just like the bad guys are.” 

“Are you suggesting we _don’t_ go in?” Laurel lifted an eyebrow. 

Felicity looked at her as if she’d gone insane. “Of course not. We’ve got to act; they’re just going to keep getting worse until people start dying. But we need to go into this knowing that it’s not going to be a cakewalk. And,” she took a deep breath and glanced up at John. “I think it needs to be the Arrow.” 

John stepped back reflexively, studiously not looking at that damned glass case and faceless mannequin. Felicity could read the automatic refusal on his face and grabbed his wrist before he could get out of reach. 

“John,” she said softly, “The bad guys don’t think it’s Arrow who was involved with taking down the warehouse. And like it or not, Arrow has a psychological effect on the criminals in this city. They’re afraid of him, and they think he can do impossible things. Frankly, we need that right now. We need absolutely every advantage we have, and the impact of Arrow showing up is a real one. Plus, it tells the traffickers they’re dealing with a bigger problem than they thought they were. It might set them back a little.” She dug her fingers into his wrist when he started to look away. “We need them to be set back, John. They’re almost on us.” 

“All right.” His voice was hoarse and it hurt to say it, but he managed to get the words out around the lump in his throat. “Fine. I’ll suit up as the Arrow.” 

He expected another squeeze but Felicity rose to her feet and gave him a warm hug. She felt too thin in his arms, and from the way she tightened her grip he felt the same to her. 

Ok, so maybe being at home wasn’t that great either, time with Sara notwithstanding. Maybe he’d lost sight of it in the cloud of anger and … and _grief_ over Oliver’s death, and the way it had struck deep into the unhealed abscess that was Andy’s murder. Maybe he’d been tangled up in himself a little. Or, a lot. 

Either way, he’d been neglecting his friends. 

Still, suiting up… That was striking awfully close to the heart. This wasn’t going to be easy even without the threat of a trap hanging over them. 

Laurel gave a crisp nod and headed for the backroom to change, and Felicity visibly gathered herself before striding firmly over to the glass case and starting to undress the mannequin with quick, sure motions. 

“I should go with you,” Thea declared suddenly, looking at the Arsenal leathers with a critical eye. “I could wear those, a mask…” 

“No.” John didn’t even realize he’d said it until Thea’s head snapped around to glare at him. “Absolutely not.” 

Her expression turned stormy and downright mutinous. “You don’t get to tell me what …” 

“Thea?” Felicity interrupted her before she could really get going on the tongue lashing and she subsided, but based on the look on her face didn’t stop trying to kill him with her mind. “While I doubt I agree with John’s reasons, I do agree with him in general on this.” 

“You think I’m not good enough, or too young, or too…” She shot him a look full of contempt, “ _female_?” 

He opened his mouth to retort but Felicity beat him to it. 

“You know John doesn’t think any of those things. More that you’re Oliver’s little sister, and if he let you walk into a death trap he’d be taking the chance of Oliver’s death being for nothing.” 

He hadn’t expected her to lay it out so baldly and he blinked before giving a short nod of agreement. Thea recoiled as if she’d been slapped, face whitening. 

“While I have some sympathy for his position, he’s wrong.” She gave him an apologetic look. “It’s not our place to try any control what you do, certainly not to ‘let you’, and if Oliver chose to go off and … to go off that’s his problem, not yours.” 

Ok, he wasn’t so sure he wanted her on his side right now. But she was also making sense, damn it. 

“Still, I know that’s just his protectiveness and his love for Oliver speaking, so it’s understandable.” She patted him on the arm, ignoring his glare. “My reasons aren’t about any of those things. The bad guys we’re avoiding have no idea you exist, and that makes you both safer and at the same time the ultimate backup plan. We need to have reserves, things and people that they don’t already know about, and you’re a League-trained fighter who fought the Arrow to a standstill once. I want to keep you for when we need a surprise, and this time, Arrow qualifies.” 

Slowly colour started to flow back into Thea’s cheeks. 

“And finally… you told me just an hour ago how you want to let that part of your life settle for a while, that you want to get closer to the girl you remember liking.” Felicity smiled at her, that beautiful honest grin that was like standing in a sunbeam, that made Oliver, made _him_ want to give her absolutely everything she wanted. From the wide-eyed expression on Thea’s face, it worked on her too. “I want that for you too. So I would like it if you would stay here with me, and help me from here.” She placed her hand on Thea’s forearm. “Please?” 

Thea looked at him. 

“What she said,” he told her gruffly. 

Thea nodded and John felt the knot of fear in his stomach relax in relief, but the grim glance she shot him told him not everything was forgiven as yet. 

Fair enough. She could be as mad as she wanted as long as he didn’t have another dead Queen on his conscience. He didn’t think he’d survive any more guilt, and even the idea of what his dreams would look like if he let Oliver’s baby sister get killed was enough to make him sick to his stomach. 

Laurel returned and eyed them all warily. “We going sometime tonight?” 

Felicity offered him the bundle of leathers and he took them gingerly. “I draw the line at the bow,” he muttered darkly. 

“Sure,” Felicity nodded and gave him a gentle shove. “We’ll discuss it after you’re dressed.” 

* * *

“This place is locked up _tight_.” John shook his head and looked again through the mini-binoculars he’d brought to scope the bank, hitching the quiver a little higher on his back with a shrug of his shoulders. The bow jutted against his hip uncomfortably and he twisted to shift it loose. “These guys aren’t your average crappy-assed bank robbers.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead under the green hood he’d never wanted to wear again. The leathers were still too tight but a looser fit than usual. Seems he’d been losing weight. “Looks like you were right, Overwatch.” 

Felicity’s voice sounded strange, distorted by the modulator. The fact that she was using one over their encrypted channel told him that she was really spooked, and it made him nervous. “I really didn’t want to be.” 

“No kidding,” he muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “There’s no entry from the ground floor.” 

“No entry from up top.” Laurel’s modulator made her sound eerily like Sara and John fought back a shudder. The ghosts were thick around him tonight. 

“All right.” There was a long pause as Felicity did her thing, and then, “There’s an entry from the street, underground. An old ventwork from the subway days. It’s weird that those things keep coming up, isn’t it? And you know, I never really figured out how that ‘Savior’ guy got the actual real subway cars moving. Why would they get left down there in working condition?” 

John coughed. 

“Right, right. East alleyway, second rectangular vent, pop the grate and there should be a elevation handle on the right if you’re facing Main.” 

“Got it.” He found the grate exactly where she directed him, giving a curt nod as he felt Laurel land softly beside him. They headed down and followed Felicity’s directions to a door hidden behind a false brick facade. 

“Wow,” Laurel muttered. “You’d think a bank would have been thinking a little more security-oriented.” 

“It used to be a brothel,” Felicity reported. “The door was for quick getaways. You’re still going to have to get through into the bank itself, but the original building plans show that they framed in a space for a doorway opening into their boiler room, but later plans have that section walled in. Twelve paces forward, on the right.” 

John took the paces and slammed his elbow into the drywall, which gave with a gratifying _crunch_. 

“I hope that was the wall and not your shoulder,” Felicity whispered. He could hear the wince in her voice. 

“All wall, Overwatch.” He was gentler with the second level of drywall, simply shoving it away from the studs. The place was old enough that the drywall had been nailed into place and it gave with a quiet rustle. John held out his phone and checked for heat signatures in the room or nearby, finding none. “We’re in.” 

“I have the cameras. Checking for piggybackers… and there is one. I’m going to have to kill the cameras entirely guys. As of right now you have four on the bank floor, all armed, watching the hostages. Four more on the mezzanine, and one on the third floor balcony.” 

He shifted his shoulders to resettle the quiver again, checked the flechettes at his wrists. Deep breaths got some extra oxygen moving in his brain, lifting the fog a bit. He really wasn’t in the right headspace for this. Back in Afghanistan he’d had practice at taking a death and soldiering on, but that was years ago. And he’d never had to deal with it wearing a dead man’s clothes, that still smelled like he’d just worn them yesterday. For a second his eyes burned and he needed shake his head to make the sensation dissipate. One more deep breath, and at Laurel’s firm nod, John said,“Got it.” 

“Going dark in three. Two. One. Dark.” 

All power to the building flashed once and then blew out as Felicity sent a vicious surge through the circuits before cutting it off completely. He heard light bulbs bursting throughout the building. It was a building full of mini flash-bangs courtesy of Felicity Smoak and he felt a swell of pride in her, and gratitude that she was on his side. 

Then he put everything other than the immediate moment out of his head and _moved_. 

He and Laurel swivelled through the doorway to the main floor. John fired an explosive arrow over the lone gunman on the third floor, grinning as it embedded itself in the ceiling over the man’s head before exploding and knocking him forward over the railing. He landed on the floor with a splat that John couldn’t bring himself to feel badly about, and then six of the remaining eight bad guys were converging on them and he was out of time to do anything other than fight. 

He didn’t even try to use another arrow, instead using the bow as a bludgeon. Laurel’s nightsticks whirled in her hands and struck the attacker closest to her with a brutal one-two to the man’s temple. He dropped, but the man behind him kept coming without even slowing down. John punched the nearest attacker to him in the throat, felling him immediately, and swept the legs from the next in line to knock him to the ground. 

The darkness worked in their favour, though the ambient light coming in from the skylights meant that they couldn’t simply fade into the black and disappear. Their only real advantage was that all of the bad guys had decided to rush them instead of shooting. Why hadn’t they started shooting? 

John whipped another attacker across the temple with the bow and realized that what it really meant was that Felicity had been right: This was a trap, and they wanted to take them alive. 

A quick shared glance with Laurel told him she’d reached the same conclusion as she dodged a loudly crackling stun gun and chopped it out of the man’s hand with a single decisive blow that left the man’s wrist dented in a definitively unhealthy way. Laurel braced and slammed her elbow into the man’s jaw on her backswing, and attacker number four was out of commission. The man John had knocked down was trying to get back up, so John stamped his knee with one solidly booted foot, breaking his leg and taking him out of the fight. 

The three criminals still in the fight held back; two covering the cowering hostages and one levelling a Taser at them with a smug smirk that John could see even in the low light. The targeting laser was a bright green dot wavering ever so slightly on Laurel’s chest. 

“Gotcha,” the man said with satisfaction. 

John pulled his Glock and shot him in the head. 

The hostages screamed and dropped flat to the floor. The two men guarding them froze in shock. 

“Just because I don’t like guns doesn’t mean I can’t use them,” John growled at them, the modulator making his voice sound like some monster, deep and gravel-filled. 

In unison, the bad guys lifted their weapons and aimed at the hostages. 

John shot the one on the left as Roy launched himself at the one on the right, tackling him to the ground and wrestling the gun out of his hands before he could get a shot off. The gun skittered across the floor and Laurel hammered the man with her nightstick, barely missing Roy’s head. 

“Call the police in,” John said, pointing at one of the hostages, who looked marginally less likely to faint from terror than the others. She nodded frantically and scrambled for the bank of phones. John and Laurel took a moment to zipcuff the attackers. 

Frantically bobbing flashlights fanned across the front doors, heralding the arrival of the police. John pointed to the woman who had used the phone and she nodded, scurrying to let them in. She clicked over the lock as John and Laurel faded towards their entry. 

The police boiled through the front doors.. John turned his head away from the flashlights so they would only catch glimpses of the dark green hood, both he and Laurel picking up the pace to avoid getting caught, or shot. He glared meaningfully at Roy as he passed, and Roy winced but gave a tiny nod in reply. He’d be heading to the foundry once he was released by the police. 

They raced down the stairs to the boiler room and back out to the old tunnel, finally stopping when they reached the elevation platform. “We’re clear,” John said, keying on his mike. 

“Oh thank God.” Even with the modulator, Felicity still sounded like herself, warm and comforting, and John closed his eyes and concentrated on setting aside the close call. “Come on home.” 

“On our way,” Laurel agreed, and they headed up to the street and home.


	5. Surfacing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy returns to the Foundry to face Felicity and Digg; Captain Lance calls to confront them

“I have to say,” Thea said airily as she came down the steps. “It all seemed kind of familiar, picking him up at the police station. Not quite as fun without the cuffs though.” 

Roy rolled his eyes and stepped past her on the landing, leaving her to lounge dramatically at the landing. 

“Captain Lance told me he missed them too,” she finished with a happy sigh. “It’s been too long since someone I know got arrested. Captain Lance and I never talk anymore!” 

“Are you done?” Roy demanded, turning to face Felicity and Diggle waiting at Felicity’s computer table and waved his hand in frustration. “She hasn’t shut up once since she showed up!” 

“See? It really _is_ just like old times.” Thea jumped down the last few steps and walloped him on the shoulder. “Now you just need to hide your bruises and go slap water to get out your frustrations and it will be just like last year!” 

At the sight of his pure exasperation, Felicity felt the first genuine smile in over a month, maybe longer, spread over her face. Roy froze at the sight of it and tilted his head, his face softening. 

“Well,” he said, “Now it was worth it.” 

Thea glanced back and forth between them. “Wait. You, and you?” She pursed her lips speculatively. “Ok, yeah, I could see that.” 

“Oh, my God, no. No. Nooooo.” Felicity actually pushed her chair back in reaction, waving her hands in reflexive denial. “Ugh.” 

John laughed, and it warmed her to hear it, even as she wrinkled her nose at his amusement. 

Roy had turned a look of utter disgust on Thea, but now he swung back to Felicity in outrage. “ _Ugh_?” 

“You’re cute enough, but you’re too short for me. Plus…” Oliver’s face filled her memory and she choked to a stop, her enjoyment of the teasing evaporating to ash in her mouth. 

Roy nodded, understanding even as Thea’s brow wrinkled with confusion. John stopped snickering and heaved a sigh instead. 

“Ok,” Roy straightened his shoulders and faced them squarely. “Go ahead, Mom, Uncle John, get it over with. I can take it.” 

“First of all, I’m like three years older than you. Second of all, what the hell were you thinking? DId you think that we wouldn’t worry?” She had a half-instant to realize how much she sounded like a mother scolding her kid before she continued. “The people running the trafficking ring are still looking for us, and they’re getting damned close.” 

Roy crossed his arms and stuck his chin out mutinously. “I didn’t wear the Arsenal gear, and I didn’t do any of the usual patrol routes. I just went out and interfered if I saw crimes in progress. Purse-snatchings, muggings. Nothing I wasn’t doing long before I knew any of you.” 

“You know what? I think this is a… uh. Family matter.” Thea waggled her fingers expressively and headed for the stairs back to the club. “I’m going to go make sure everyone’s cleaned up, do the books, have a shot, whatever.” She stopped about halfway up and turned to look down at Roy seriously. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” she said solemnly. “I was worried.” 

Roy nodded minutely, and as Thea turned away the flash of longing in his face as he looked at her stole Felicity’s breath. 

Suddenly all of her patience, all of her ability to deal with any of this; star crossed lovers, doomed romances, dangerous lives, being _hunted_ by madmen, was just completely _gone_. Roy still looked at Thea like she was his whole world; he was still keeping his distance even now that she knew. He was wasting their opportunity without even making the effort to try. She felt a white-hot surge of anger boil up inside her and caught a grip on it just before it got away from her. The door closed being Thea with a loud click, and she glared at Roy as if she could melt him with her eyes. “Seriously?” She ground out. “ _Seriously_?" The Arrow phone shrilled insistently from the corner of her desk. She picked it up and pointed an accusing finger at Roy. “You are not saved by this bell,” she said sternly and then accepted the call. “Detective Lance?” 

_”It’s Captain,”_ he told her curtly, clearly angry. _“It’s been almost a year. You think you’d remember by now.”_

Her own anger flared again but again she managed to get a grip on it before she said something she couldn’t take back. “Pardon me. Captain Lance. We haven’t heard from you in quite a while.” 

_”Yeah, well, not much point right? Since our mutual friend is dead and all,”_ he said with brutal directness. She felt her cheeks flame and then go freezing cold in reaction. 

John reached for the phone. She shook her head and clenched it tighter against her ear. 

“Yes,” she said, not quite steadily. “Are you calling because the Arrow made an appearance tonight?” 

_”No.”_ Much of the abrasiveness left his voice and he sounded almost abashed. _”I’m sorry, Ms Smoak, that was uncalled for. No, I’m calling because the woman in black did.”_ The savagery returned to his tone full-force. _”And she’s dead, too, isn’t she?”_

If it hadn’t been for the thread of hope in his voice she thought she might have hung up on him. Instead, she tried to answer him as kindly as she could. 

“I didn’t get to tell you, Captain Lance, how devastated I was to hear of Sara’s death. She was one of my closest friends and an amazing woman, and I miss her every single day.” 

_”Shit.”_ His breathing filled her ear as he tried to deal. _”I knew, but I couldn’t not hope, you know?”_

“Yeah.” Tears were threatening and she fought them back. 

_”I just… I really thought you would have told me. After you knew.”_ Now all she could hear was the hurt, and it twisted in her chest. 

“We wanted to tell you, Detective, but …” She shook her head and stopped. “No, you should have known as soon as we did, no matter what the arguments were. You deserved to know. I’m so sorry.” 

There was rustling as he held the phone away to blow his nose. He cleared his throat a couple of times and then came back on the line. _”I’m sorry too, Ms Smoak. I might not have liked our mutual friend much, but I know you felt… differently.”_

She couldn’t say anything. John’s hand came down on her shoulder and she leaned into it. 

_”So,”_ Lance shook it off and continued brusquely but without the anger from earlier. _”The woman in black tonight. Do I need to ask you who that was?”_

Felicity bit her lip. “I’d rather you didn’t.” 

_”That’s what I thought.”_ Another pause. _”Good bye, Ms. Smoak.”_

“Good night, Detective.” 

She hung up and sent a quick text to Laurel, telling her that her father was going to be calling. When she looked back up, Roy was still standing where he’d started but his hands were shoved in his hoodie pockets and his shoulders were hunched. 

“You sure you don’t want to talk to me later?” 

“Now.” Felicity heaved a sigh. “You guys need to know how close they are. They’re looking for us, not by name, but by a really precise set of descriptions. Even with laying low, they’re almost on us.” She gave Roy a level look. “And you were not laying low. Even worse, you were going out without support, without even telling anyone that you were doing it. They could have picked you up and we wouldn’t even have known.” 

“The thing that protects us is each other,” John let her go and crossed his arms. “We made the decision to take time off as a team.” 

Roy shrugged. “Oliver used to go out alone all the time, and he was being chased by the police even before Slade Wilson went after him. I didn’t even do any of the crazy crap he used to; I just went out like I did before I even joined the team.” 

“They were trying to lure us out so they could catch us, Roy. They’ve been escalating petty crimes, trying to get one of the team to bite. And they actually caught you, tonight! Those men at the bank, they were trying to take us alive. That wasn’t because they were being altruistic.” That fury from earlier was back, choking her. “They’re looking for a short guy in a red jacket with martial arts skills, Roy! If they’d figured out that they had you... I've lost two people in the last three months. I couldn't...” Words failed. 

“What do you want from me? I should see bad things happening and not interfere? You want me to do nothing?” 

“No one ever said you had to do nothing!” John was shouting now. “We said we would lay low! Take some time off from all of this, to try and stay under the radar. All you had to do was take a goddamned break! And you didn’t!” 

“Take time off? Take a break? And do what? _This is all I have!_ ” It was torn from Roy’s throat in an explosion of anguish that made her jump and froze John in place. “Don’t you understand? You.” He pointed at John with a shaking finger. “You have Lyla, and Sara, and a life, and _you_ ,” the accusing digit swung to Felicity, “You have a more than full time job, and your computers, and when you leave this fucking _dungeon_ , you have somewhere to go!” He spread his hands and gestured wildly around him. “This is all I do! I’m a part-time busboy at a nightclub; _this_ nightclub for fuck sake! If you take away… If you take away Arsenal, then I’m nothing! Do you get me? _This is all I am_!” 

The words hit her like a punch to the gut and she saw John stagger back a step and brace himself against one of the pillars. It was true. Over time, Roy had left behind his friends, had left behind Thea to protect Oliver’s secret. The need to be available for Team Arrow had meant he couldn’t commit to a full time job, and he didn’t have the resources to just create his own. He’d become the perfect team member, learning his role and his priorities at Oliver’s heels. And he’d made all the same mistakes, because what else could he do? 

“Oh, Oliver,” she whispered to herself. “You goddamned bastard. What did we do?” 

Roy was still staring at them, glassy eyed and panting with emotion. Felicity stood on wobbly feet and managed somehow to walk over to him, wrapping her arms around his violently shaking body and holding him tight. “I am so sorry,” she said sincerely. “You’re right, and I never even saw it.” 

“Neither did I.” John said hoarsely. “But now that we do, we’re going to do something about it.” He grabbed Roy’s shoulder and shook him and Felicity both with his ferocity. “This is not all there is, and you’re going to learn that if it kills us.” 

Roy pulled away from Felicity’s hold slowly, as if reluctant to let her go. “How?” he asked uncertainly. “I’m a highschool dropout. I don’t actually know anything else.” 

“We can fix that.” Felicity wiped her cheeks and went back to her computers. “What do you like?” 

“Uh.” Roy seemed at a loss for words. “Fighting? And, uh. Cars?” 

“Then you’re coming to work with me tomorrow.” John took a deep breath and shook himself all over. “Executive protection would be right up your alley.” 

Felicity blinked at him. “Up his alley?” 

John shrugged. “Pun not intended.” He bared his teeth at her, “but hilarious.” 

Roy was relaxing more with every exchange of normalcy, the trembling in his hands slowly easing. 

“And I am going to look into any rapid certifications out there for mechanics,” she stretched her fingers and got ready to type. 

“You guys seem to be forgetting I have a criminal record,” Roy said bluntly. “Not exactly great hiring material, you know?” 

“You seem to be forgetting I own the company,” John told him in the same tone. 

“And that Palmer Technologies has a fleet of cars and the human resources staff use _my_ computer systems.” Felicity flicked her fingers in the air like little fireworks bursts. “Opportunities everywhere, Harper.” 

Roy sat down on one of the metal stools like his feet had been cut off. “That’s … That sounds great.” He didn’t sound like it though. “Does that mean… Are you guys saying that it’s time to give this up? That we’re shutting it all down?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, trepidation written all over him. 

Felicity looked at John. He tilted his head in reply. 

“We can’t keep going this way,” she said, and he nodded. Roy sagged even more on his stool. “John, I think we need some vodka.” 

He frowned but took a step towards the stairs. 

“No.” She stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Some _vodka_.” 

He closed his eyes briefly in understanding and went to Oliver’s beat-up wooden chest, opening it and rummaging inside. He came up with a half-full bottle of vodka and a couple of metal shot cups. “Only two,” he said apologetically and came back over to them. When he held out one of the little cups, Felicity swiped the bottle instead. 

“I’ll drink from here,” she said and he grinned at her. Roy shook his head but joined them, taking the little cup and holding it mostly steady as she poured for them both. 

They each held up their drink. “Strength,” John said. 

“Strength,” she and Roy echoed, and they all drank. The vodka burned a line down the centre of her chest and she gasped a little, pressing a hand over her heart. 

“We can’t keep going this way,” she said again, through a throat hoarse from more than just the vodka. “We can’t keep doing what we were doing. And we can’t hide, either.” Her mouth twisted in a half-smile she didn’t feel. She blinked hard and then lifted her gaze to Roy’s suddenly hopeful one. “When I started all of this I was doing it to find Walter. And then, I was doing it because I wanted to keep Oliver safe, even if he didn’t want…” She choked a little but managed to keep going, “me. Now, though…” She leaned enough to move her mouse and the screens blazed to life, photos overlapping on every monitor. “These people needed us and we were there. I have skills that can help them, the people that the police can’t help. And I’m going to do that.” 

John’s eyes had sharpened as she spoke. “When I started this,” he said softly, “it was because I listened to some spoiled rich kid tell me that he was determined to help the people who no one else would. I got into this for them, and for somewhere to put all the anger that I still had over Andy, and over Afghanistan, and over everything else. And I got into it because I saw someone who was on a bad path, and I wanted to help keep him from going over that edge.” He smiled at the memory, eyes unfocussed. “I didn’t know then that he’d sailed over that cliff long before, and that what he was really doing was pulling himself back up.” His eyes snapped back to Felicity’s face. “Now, I’m going to be doing this because I know what’s out there. Because the police alone can’t keep my family safe. Because those people on those monitors deserve to be helped. And if it isn’t going to be the courts, and it isn’t going to be the police, then it’s going to be me.” The smile widened at some private joke. 

“I started fighting because no one else would,” Roy said tightly. “The people in my neighborhood were being hurt, and hunted, and no one would do anything about it, so I decided, I would. And then I met the Hood, and everything changed.” He looked at them and his eyes were wet. “And then I met you guys, and everything changed again.” He waggled the little metal cup and Felicity refilled it, and John’s too. “I don’t know who I am without the Arrow. But I know I’m still the guy who wouldn’t let his neighbors get hurt when he could stop it. That part of me hasn’t changed.” 

“Cheers.” 

In unison, they all took their second shot and waited while Felicity poured the third. “We have to adapt. This whole… operation. It’s built on Oliver’s vision, his strengths. But like Nyssa, said; Oliver’s not here, and we can’t keep attacking every problem as if he is. We have strengths of our own. We need to figure out how to make those work best for us, and maybe eliminate some of our weaknesses while we’re at it.” She bit her lip. “We need to do this all together. No lone wolf crap.” 

John nodded solemnly, and Roy followed suit. 

“So we’re agreed.” Felicity lifted the bottle, and they lifted their cups. This time there was no toast needed. 

“I’m glad,” Roy said softly. “That we’re not giving up.” 

“This is why you fit right in, Roy.” John poked him in the shoulder. “We don’t know how to give up.”


	6. Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Lance confronts Laurel about being the woman in black, and drops some interpretations of her actions that Laurel doesn't want to hear.

Laurel set her phone down with a sigh. She appreciated Felicity’s head’s up, but she’d known that as soon as her father heard about the appearance of Canary that he’d be making the connection he’d been too devastated to make before, and that he wouldn’t be able to resist coming to ‘discuss’ it with her. 

She’d been counting on it a little, she admitted privately. After Christmas, her father had withdrawn from her as thoroughly as he ever had. Even in his drunken days he would call her to pick him up; her card was with each of the bartenders within twenty blocks of the precinct and they’d all known who to call if Detective Lance got too far into a bottle. 

This time though, he hadn’t returned to drinking. He attended meetings every day, meetings they attended together, but he didn’t really talk to her. He wasn’t cold, precisely. He just treated her like an acquaintance instead of like his daughter. And for all their legendary friction over the years, she’d never, ever seen him like this. 

As if he didn’t care. As if he were _indifferent_. 

She hadn’t even known that he could _be_ indifferent. His default setting was ‘cares entirely too much’, for everything. 

She stared at the sealed bottle of wine on her sideboard and wished wholeheartedly that this confrontation had already happened and that they were back to being father and daughter. To being friends. To being _family_. 

She’d thought she’d felt alone after Oliver and Sara were lost at sea, then had set a whole new benchmark after Tommy died and Sara came back. But through both of those crises, her father had been there. 

This estrangement was excruciating. 

Resolutely she put the wine bottle away in the cabinet and straightened the lace doily on top of the sideboard, ran a finger across the dust on the surface, idly remembering Tommy’s strange love of drawing in whatever skims he could find. Tabletops, car windows, her sunglasses… 

The loud knock on her door startled her out of her reverie and she took a deep, steadying breath before she opened the door. 

“The woman in black? Seriously, Laurel, what the _hell_ are you thinking?” He didn’t even wait for her to open the door the whole way before he was striding inside, hands waving. “Why are you doing this?” 

She leaned back a little to let him pass. “Hi, Dad,” she said deadpan. “It _has_ been quite a while. I’ve missed you too. Happy New Year!” 

He narrowed his eyes at her, unamused. “Don’t deflect. You know exactly what I’m talking about. It was one thing when it was your sister. I never liked that either, but at least she knew what she was doing.” 

“Oh, now you admit she knew what she was doing. Which time? When she went off with my boyfriend, or when she got back together with Oliver after she got home, or when she put on black leather and beat up bad guys?” Temper blasted through her, as volatile as her father’s had ever been. Just like always, her anger rose to meet his. “Why do you always think _I_ don’t know what I’m doing, Daddy? Is it because I just don’t agree with you?” 

He stared at her for a moment and then all the fight went out of him and he deflated, visibly sagging before he sat down heavily on her couch. After a long moment he patted the seat beside him. “Laurel,” he said, “Come sit down.” 

Warily she sat. “No pleasant conversation we have ever had has started with those words,” she muttered. 

“God knows that’s true.” He scrubbed both hands over his head before turning to face her squarely. “Laurel. I love you. You’re my daughter and God help you, you’re just like me in so many ways. You’re not going to want to hear this… you’re not going to want to _listen_ , but I need you to try, okay? Will you?” 

The caution had turned to a sick dread, but how could she refuse? “Oookay.” 

“From the time you were a little girl, you always… you always defined yourself by the people around you. It was like… it was like you weren’t sure what _you_ wanted, so you’d hear what someone else wanted and you’d try that on for size and you wouldn’t stop until you got it. Sara wanted a double bed, so you got a double bed. Your mom wanted a chocolate cake, so you got a chocolate cake. Sara… Sara wanted Oliver Queen, so you… you got Oliver Queen.” 

_What?_ The anger blazed through her again, and seeing it on her face, her father held up his hand. 

“You thought I wouldn't trace the anonymous tip about Queen’s party? Of course I knew that was you. Now, I don’t expect you to agree with me, I just want you to hear me out. Listen.” 

She shook her head in outraged disbelief but waved for him to continue. 

“The only thing that really seemed to be your own because it was what _you_ wanted was being a lawyer. And after Sara died, you went after it, and Laurel, I was so goddamned proud of you. You followed your own way, and you went to work for CNRI, and my little girl was really coming into her own. Even Meryln, I could see he was good for you, and I could see that you were reaching out for him, because you wanted him. Not because anyone else did, but because you did.” He swallowed hard. “Well, we know how that turned out. Reaching for something that you wanted got you hurt. CNRI, Tommy. Both gone in a heartbeat. And that was the end of chasing what _you_ wanted.” 

He laced his hands together across his lap and she noticed absently that they were shaking. “Since then, Laurel, all you’ve done has been about following in other people’s footsteps. Going to the DAs office. Jesus, Laurel, even the drugs and alcohol! That’s not you. That’s _me_!” 

She was on her feet with her back to him before she even realized she’d moved. 

“Now, this woman in black stuff. I don’t know who you’re chasing this time, if you’re trying to follow Queen or trying to follow Sara, and I don’t care. Queen and Sara, they went through some terrible stuff while they were gone. Queen, well, it was clear he was trying to fix some messes his family left behind because the law wouldn’t, and as for Sara: No one dresses up in leather and says stuff like ‘No woman should suffer at the hands of men’ while beating up would-be rapists without having her reasons. But you, Laurel, you don’t have those reasons.” 

She heard him get to his feet and come to stand behind her. “I’m not done being mad at you, Laurel, not by a long shot.” His voice broke a little and it sent a little quiver through her. “But I can’t watch you do this this time and not say anything. I want you to be thinking… really thinking. Cause I know you like I know my own skin, and you doing this only tracks for me one way, this way. And that’s the _wrong reasons_ , Laurel, trying to serve someone else’s vendettas, trying to fill your holes with someone else’s fulfillment.” 

She crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders in denial. 

“Fine,” he said tiredly. “You’re just as stubborn as me. But you need to figure it out for yourself, no matter what else you do. So you think about it. You think about what you’re doing and why.” 

She heard his heavy footsteps cross the floor, heard the click of the door latch as he turned the knob. 

“Happy New Year.” He left and the door closed softly behind him. 

His words echoed behind him. _Laurel, Why are you doing this?_

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered. “I don’t know.”


	7. Unmasked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shadow organization makes it clear they want their property returned.

The city lay spread before her as she looked out the enormous windows of the executive office. She still couldn’t quite bring herself to think of it as _hers_ ; in all the time she’d spent as Oliver’s assistant she’d never managed to think of it as his, either. 

To her, this office would always be Walter Steele’s. 

That didn’t keep her from seeing Oliver _everywhere_ when she was here. Right now, she could almost see his reflection in the glass beside her, staring out broodingly over the city. Tortured by some memory, maybe, or angry over Slade’s maneuverings. Smug, possibly; he was good at smug. She swallowed hard and found her hand lifting to the glass as if she could reach through it to their past and stroke the stubbled cheek. He’d been gone for months. Shouldn’t this be starting to hurt a _little_ less by now? She closed her eyes and breathed through the pain. 

“Felicity?” 

Gerry’s voice made her jump. She turned to see him hovering uncertainly in the doorway. 

“Yes?” she prompted with a raised eyebrow. 

“You have visitors,” he gave her a grin and waved his hand behind him. An instant later, John and Roy came around the corner. 

She grinned, and it felt good. It felt real. “Well, hello there handsomes.” 

Roy spread his hands and spun in place, more like a breakdancer than a model. It made his new suit flare out as if he were on a runway and she laughed in delight. 

“You look fantastic!” She gave him a warm hug. John smiled at her over Roy’s shoulder, but she could see all the same memories in the shadows of his eyes. 

“Digg sprang for the suit,” Roy said, giving her a quick squeeze back. “Said I need to look ‘businesslike’ or some crap, if I’m going to be working with him.” He shrugged self-consciously. “What do you think? Do I look the part?” 

She looked him over again. “Absolutely.” 

“Uh, Felicity?” Gerry interrupted again, a completely different tone in his voice this time. Immediately John stepped to her shoulder and turned to face the door. 

“Yes, Gerry?” 

Two men in perfectly cut dark suits stood in the doorway, flanking her assistant. Either of them could have been businessmen anywhere in the world; neither of them were the least bit remarkable. Medium build, medium height, medium hair. The best word she could think of to describe them was: _beige_. 

Roy slid back to her other shoulder, frowning a little. 

“Two more visitors. They didn’t want to leave names.” Gerry’s voice rose, making it a question. 

“Ms. Smoak,” the first man said with an oily smile on his face. “We’ve been looking for you for some time. We’re very pleased to have found you.” His eyes flicked to John and Roy and lit with something like glee. “I believe we’ve been searching for your companions there, as well.” 

Felicity felt her heart stop in her chest. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” she somehow managed to say steadily. “I’m hardly difficult to find, and I can’t imagine why you’d be looking for any of us, let alone all of us. We barely know each other.” 

“You have something that belongs to our organization, Ms. Smoak. We want it back and we’re not choosy about how we get it.” The second man spoke up, his voice a surprisingly deep baritone. “You have very distinctive fingerprints and they’re all over the software that’s been leading us on this merry little chase. It’s entirely possible we’d have missed you for weeks more if our vendor hadn’t suggested that we stop searching and instead look at what was providing all our information.” 

“Your vendor?” Her mind and her heart were racing out of control. 

“We purchase very … specialized… equipment. Our primary supplier is in Starling City, and … well. He’s very interested in helping us retrieve our property, especially since he hasn’t received his payment yet.” 

“Unless your equipment is provided by Palmer Technologies, I can’t help you.” She swallowed and forcibly stopped her fingers from twisting together. “And since you don’t have an appointment, I’m going to ask you to leave. Gerry, please call security.” 

Baritone Voice grabbed Gerry’s arm, preventing him from moving. He twisted to try and get away but Baritone just gripped harder, making him drop to one knee and cry out. “Our contact here in Starling has told us about the current state of the Arrow, Ms. Smoak. Are you sure you want to take these steps? Surely it is faster, not to mention wiser, to simply give us back our property.” 

“We have a long reach.” Oily Smile skipped the euphemisms and went straight to the point. “We want our key and our money, or we’re going to make you hurt.” 

John stepped in front of her, menace rolling off him. “Say that again,” he growled. 

The two men didn’t flinch. “We’re. Going. To. Make. Her. _Hurt_.” 

Gerry uncoiled from his half-crouch and punched Baritone Voice in the crotch, tearing free of his hand. Baritone hunched over in pain and Oily Smile grabbed for Gerry reflexively. John moved like lightning, drawing his sidearm with a rasp of leather and drawing a bead on Oily Smile’s face with unwavering aim. 

“The lady asked you to leave,” John said steadily into the sudden silence. “You’re going to do that. Right now.” 

“We came here to deliver a message.” Oily Smile pulled on Baritone Voice’s shoulder and yanked him upright. “I think you got the message. Didn’t you, Ms. Smoak?” 

“Yeah,” she said, and her voice shook despite all her efforts to keep it steady. “Message received.” 

“Good.” Oliy Smile smiled again and backed out of her office, pulling his angry partner with him. Gerry waited just long enough for them to clear the door before he bolted for the phone, punching the number for security with trembling hands. 

“John,” Felicity said, “I want to hire your security firm. I think I need protection.” 

“Already on it.” John pulled his phone from his pocket and held it out to her. “Sign here. Roy, welcome to your first assignment.” 

Roy straightened his shoulders and strode to the door, taking up a position beside it. 

“John,” Felicity said softly so that the others couldn’t hear, “I’ve been thinking, about how we need to start to use our strengths.” 

He leaned in and nodded, eyes intent on her face. 

“I found Oliver’s leverage on Amanda Waller.” 

He paled a little. 

“Yes,” she nodded at the dawning realization on his face. “My biggest strength is information, and I’m going to use it. It’s time for us to talk to ARGUS.”


	8. Ascension

Finally, he was once again able to move without pain. 

It had been weeks of recovery since Ra’s pulled him back from the brink of true insanity, since he’d been stitched together with silken thread and careful hands, Ra’s standing over the surgeon to ensure the work was done well. 

Since Nyssa had gutted him on the training room floor. 

Even with his remaining enhanced healing it had been a week before he could stretch without tearing the wounds back open, two before he could begin to train. Of course, injury was not considered a valid barrier to productivity in the League, and Nyssa had heaped other responsibilities upon him with a bitter smile. Instructing the lower initiates, maintaining the armory. 

Thinking of Nyssa brought back the biting rage he felt, the burn for vengeance and his fingers twisted into fists of their own accord. The rage burned but at least it feet pure. At least it _felt_ , when nothing else did. 

The ache in his brain was ever-present, but drinking from the Fountain had made it feel… distant. Threatening, but separate. 

The longbow in his hands sighed under the soft strokes of beeswax-laden suede. The aged wood gleamed, the grain showing proud lines where ash and yew were bound together and joined with marvellous skill. He enjoyed this task of all those set before him. 

The bow felt familiar; the only thing in his world that did even after two months with the League. He’d felt it the instant Nyssa set the weapon into his hand, how his fingers curled around with memory built into muscle and bone, where the chasm in his mind couldn’t reach. 

If he cared about familiar, it might bother him each time he rubbed the linseed oil into the smooth flex of perfectly cured yew and ash, the curves and planes like a lover’s skin under his fingertips. It might hurt him a little, to set aside the gleaming beauty of promised power. The bow remained the one weapon refused to him. 

He released the bow into its case and shut the lid with finality. 

He didn't care about _familiar_ ; he cared only about focus and about reaching his goal: Please R'as al Ghul and accomplish his missions. Nothing else mattered. 

“It is time.” 

He lifted his eyes to the mirror. Ra’s stood in the doorway to the armory, hands clasped behind his back. Long black leathers swept from his shoulders to the floor in wide plackets, making him look larger and more imposing than usual. Gold-embroidered demons climbed the sides of his black satin tunic to wrap around his collar. 

He inclined his head in acknowledgement and followed R’as out of the room, through the maze of corridors to the training room. 

The cavern was transformed from its usual austerity to a barbaric cave. Tapestries hung from the walls where he was accustomed to seeing only stone, and the entire room was encircled by fiercely burning torches every three or four feet. Heat radiated off of them in a visible rippling wave. As they entered, it felt as though he stepped into a ring of living flame. 

The League lined the walls two deep, so still they could have been leather and wool-clad statues. They were all fully armed, swords and arrows jutting over squared shoulders, quarterstaffs and bostaves at the ready. At the center, a large iron brazier blazed with heat, bristling with iron rods. Weapons arrayed a heavy table set to its side. A thick orange rope was laid in a careful, wide circle ten paces across. Without being told, he moved to its center, turned on his heel and fell silently into the same erect stillness as the League. 

In a swirl of black leather and red silk, Nyssa strode into the room. She raked them all with a harsh glare. Ra’s moved to stand beside the brazier and Nyssa took her position at his shoulder. Power and inflexible pride radiated from them both. 

“Nej h’ul.” Ra’s deep voice rang through the cavern. “You have been tested. Many of your number have died in the process, but you have survived, and you are all the stronger for it. You have been judged worthy of ascending to the ranks of the League.” 

Nyssa’s eyes bored into him, searching deeply as she always did. Her lips compressed in frustration and she looked away. 

“The League is a brotherhood of warriors. You cannot meet your brothers unarmed. Choose the weapon that will accompany you into your new life.” Ra’s gestured at the table. “Choose wisely. Your testing does not end with your ascension, only with your death.” 

He moved to the table, Nyssa following like a grim angel of death to oversee his choices. An array of heavy and light fighting knives edged the table; a compound battlebow, a heavy crossbow, and three swords took up the middle. All of the blades were beautiful, the knives works of individual art. The swords were each unique; the first a slim short sword in the style of a katana but with an unusually fluted blade, the second a heavier blade modelled after a gladius, and the third… 

The third was a simple short sword design with a simple flare to the blade and a black and gold hilt. The firelight glinted off it, almost dazzling. 

He reached for it, feeling oddly dizzy, as if in a dream. 

Nyssa stepped between him and Ra’s eyeline in a movement so smooth he could have sworn it was simply her naturally shifting her feet, but her hand grabbed his wrist in an iron hold before he could reach the blade. She leaned close to him as if perusing the knives more closely, her lips against his ear. 

“If you believe nothing else of me, heed me in this one thing. _Never face Ra’s al Ghul with a sword in your hand_. Not in practice, not to spar. If you do, you will die.” Her voice was barely audible, laced with an intensity he’d never heard from her. “Again.” She pulled back, pretended to settle his robe more firmly across his shoulders, ignoring his flinch. She set a beautiful ebony quarterstaff he hadn’t even noticed into his hands. “For you.” She stepped away with an imperious inclination of her head. 

He ran his fingers down the top of the staff, examining it closely. Subtle designs were engraved into the black wood that was polished to a deep sheen that made it seem made of some mysterious black liquid. The designs were chased with iron that matched the dark banding at either end, the staff itself heat-hardened. It was a work of art. 

Hefting the quarterstaff in his hand, he returned to his place and faced Ra’s. 

“You have chosen well.” Ra’s beckoned him closer, and with a gesture indicated he should kneel. An instant later, rough hands grabbed him and pulled off his robes, leaving him bare chested. More hands covered him with a thin coating of some aromatic oil until his skin glistened under the light, tingling unpleasantly. He withstood the assault with gritted teeth, skin crawling at the effort to not react to the touch. Nyssa’s face hardened and he knew she’d seen her curved fighting knife tucked into the sash at his waist, knew she’d recognized it for the promise it was. 

“The League is a sacred trust.” Nyssa stated in a clear, ringing voice as she handed her father a bowl and a slim single-bladed knife. ‘This trust requires discipline, and sacrifice.” Her eyes bored into his. “Do you make this sacrifice willingly, nej h’ul, no matter what it will be?” 

He nodded. “Yes.” 

“Do you renounce all claims on your previous life?” She demanded with that peculiar intensity that he’d heard at the table. 

He nodded again. “Yes, Wuaritha.” Something flickered across her expression, too fast for him to see. 

“You will be cleansed of all you were before. No sin, no virtue, can follow you here. There is only obedience, and service to the Ra’s. There is only the League.” 

Ra’s lifted the bowl in one hand, the knife in the other and moved to stand over him. The knife flashed in the firelight and after a long moment the sting where it had bitten deeply into the flesh of his chest made itself felt. Blood spilled down his torso in a hot stream. Ra’s offered him the bowl, and he drank strongly from it. Bitter, gritty liquid flooded his mouth with unfamiliar tastes. 

His head began to swim. 

“We are the League,” R’as said. 

All around, the League echoed him. “ _We are the League._ ” 

The knife flicked again and a second red mouth opened above the first, gaping wide before filling with ruby blood, overflowing and adding its weight to that already soaking into the top of his sash, spattering the wood of the staff at his knees. It trailed across the angry scars from Nyssa’s knives, making it look as though the wounds had reopened and were weeping blood. 

He blinked and brought his eyes back to Ra’s face, waiting patiently. 

“We walk the path of the ancient ways.” 

“ _We walk the demon’s path_.” 

A third cut, on his right this time. Another line of hot liquid sliding over oil-slick skin. The pain had changed into something else, something closer to pleasure, something that made him want to set his fingers into the wounds and _press_... 

“We travel the river of blood.” 

“ _We travel the river of death._ ” 

A fourth stripe sent a new sheet of blood down his chest and he heard a muffled gasp as he swayed slightly on his knees. He looked down, and saw that the blood had formed a complicated pattern across his torso and abdomen, tracing many of his scars in brilliant red relief. A long line under his right ribs stood out and he frowned. He had no ridge or scar there. 

He lifted his head and saw Nyssa staring at him with a pale face and compressed lips, her eyes hard but sheened with tears. She blinked, and the shine disappeared as if it had never been. He returned his gaze to Ra’s and saw a deep satisfaction on his face before he turned to the brazier and removed a glowing iron brand. A three-pointed design not unlike an arrowhead. 

“The blood speaks true,” Ra’s declared, lifting the brand over his head. The torch light glittered across a design embroidered into his leather placket with black thread. The same three-pointed design. He tilted his head and saw it also delineated on Nyssa’s sash. The mark of the League. 

Ra’s stepped closer. “Who are you?” 

The words came to his lips unbidden. “I am of the brotherhood.” 

Eyes flashing, Ra’s repeated, “who are you?” 

“I am of the League.” 

One more time R’as intoned it, disappointment gathering in his eyes. “Who are you?” 

Suddenly, in a flash of clarity, he understood. Not the mark of the League. The mark of _R’as al Ghul._

He knew what needed to be said. “I am yours, Father.” 

Ra’s expression was one of pure triumph as he lowered the brand and pressed it firmly over the many-pointed star on his breast, destroying the symbol of his prior life. Pain and ecstasy ripped through him, the drugs from the bowl and the oil combining to make the agony bearable, even pleasurable. The sizzle of blistering skin met his ears, the acrid scent of burning flesh filled his nostrils. He struggled with himself to remain still, fought his reflexes for control over his reactions, and won. When Ra’s pulled the brand away he swayed forward as if to follow it. The pain flickered along his nerves like tiny bolts of lightning racing to his fingertips and toes. No part of him was untouched. He felt it everywhere. 

It was _transcendent_. 

He leaned forward more, eyes on the brand, chasing it. 

Nyssa placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him upright. Her face was tight with her own fight to hide her thoughts, but this time the tears in her eyes were unmistakable. 

Ra’s returned the brand to the brazier and straightened. 

“Never again will you be nej h’ul, nameless and alone. Ascend to your place at our side, Al Helwiya.” 

He blinked. He had a _name_. Al Helwiya. 

_The Abyss_. 

Ra’s held out his hand, eyes warm. Nyssa stood ramrod straight at his shoulder, once again in control of her expression. 

“Rise, my son.” 

Curling his fingers around his staff, Helwiya stood and planted its end in the sand. He braced his feet wide against the swirl of vertigo. Nyssa stepped forward and took his forearm in a strong clasp. “Welcome,” she said through gritted teeth. “Brother.” 

He inclined his head and returned the pressure against her own bracer, leaving smears of blood on the dark leather. “Sister,” he replied, baring his teeth at her. 

“Come.” Ra’s gestured and the watching League broke ranks, opening the doors and disappearing on silent feet. “Now, we feast.” 

“Abyss.” Nyssa turned the sibilance into a hiss, made it sound like a curse. “A fitting name for such an empty man.” 

As he released her arm and silently turned to follow Ra’s from the cavern, he couldn’t help but agree. 

_Abyss_. 

It sounded perfect.


End file.
